When you're on the 32nd floor, it's hard to tell when it's raining as there's no pitter-patter above, and no splash beneath.
You're in a city where, from this vantage point, concrete and other seriously unpretty constructs form a 360 degree panorama, and you cling to the hope that, when the clouds lift, you'll see a volcano.
It's too easy to stay awake into the early hours - wishing you had the stamina to do this on a normal Friday night - except that it's a Tuesday, and you're mentally bleached with jetlag.
You marvel at the strange hieroglyphic bill presented to you, but your reasons for framing it are more to do with your need to claim it on expenses.
Your room is decked in late 70's retro off-beige soft things, your iron is portable and your loo blowdries your arse, yet you can't help but warm to its attempt at trying to make you feel at home.
You can walk in any direction into the city for many hundreds of yards and, unless you stumble across the brief peace of a shinto temple, you could still be anywhere under the rising sun in this city of multi-layered steel, skywalks and fly-unders.
PS - that's not a furry bat hanging from the standard lamp, it's a glitch in my camera lens that irks somewhat and must be sorted forthwith.
